


goals & aspirations

by gurglegoggles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU - No Magic, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Chubby Draco, Encouraging, Established Relationship, Feeding, Fluff, Gaining, Gradual, M/M, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 04:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11501958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gurglegoggles/pseuds/gurglegoggles
Summary: The two of them are sloshed when Draco admits that he's always dreamed of being a bigger man; perhaps just one stone heavier to start. He'd certainly never meant to have his partner learn of this fantasy.Harry supports Draco in all things, including his desire to gain mass, and the brunette quickly finds himself entranced by the the blonde's burgeoning waistline.





	goals & aspirations

**Author's Note:**

> hello, all!! it's been some time since i've read hp, but i've gotten into this pairing yet again, and this is incredibly kinky. oops.
> 
> i'm definitely not from the UK, so if anyone is, please feel free to let me know if the terminology/phrasing sounds off and i'll fix it asap.
> 
> thanks for reading this silly little fic, and i hope you'll enjoy it. :3
> 
> (ps: apparently, it's still quite common for people to switch between measuring in pounds (lb) and kilos, so i've listed both gradations in each section. ;) 
> 
> pps: [see the sketch of draco's silhouettes at each phase of weight gain here](https://68.media.tumblr.com/02a34a0b7ec6afdce2bd809e504e0340/tumblr_ot64ujdjhM1wpklnso1_1280.png).)

 

**_—_ Part I  ** ** _ _—__****  Age 32 — 71 Kilos | 11 Stone | 156 Pounds  **—****

 

Draco hasn't gotten truly pissed, red-faced and stumbling, since he was eighteen years old, finally finding his niche in university and making friends he'd been comfortable enough to drink with and berate in the same turn. As always, Potter brings out the worst in him, turning him into a blithering fool, rambling about anything that his mouth can form syllables around.

"You know what's truly fascinating about getting on in years? Bodies can't handle alcohol as well. Lowered metabolism and all that. Are you listening?" He slurs about half of that, but Harry grunts in an affirmative, dropping the keys to their flat on the ground before hiccuping and, after another few moments of struggle, opening the door.

The brunette flops on the sofa face-down with a groan. "Yes. Science is why we're home at midnight, lamenting our life choices and how much we've had to drink. Shall I turn on a film while you teach, Professor Malfoy?"

"Don't be a prat, Potter." Draco flops on the sofa next to his partner, nearly landing on Harry's legs and making the shorter man shift to avoid a collision. "I've finished lecturing. Would you like to hear my reason for bringing this up in the first place?"

"I'd be delighted," Harry replies in drawl, flipping through applications on the smart television with half an eye open and dirty glasses obscuring his sight.

The blonde beams like he's making some great statement, touching his abdomen with something akin to reverence. "When I was young, it felt impossible to be truly full. I grew like a weed as an adolescent, and now that I'm older, I love having food _settle_ in my stomach for once. If I keep eating this way, it's only a matter of time before I pick up a stone."

Harry flicks soft green eyes up at his partner, smiling in that crooked way of his. "You've made eating sound like your passion."

Gray eyes close and he leans onto Harry's shoulder, breath hot as he tipsily murmurs, "Can I tell you something?" The younger man hums and he continues, "I've always dreamed of putting on a stone or two—enough for people to properly notice that I've gotten hefty." With a forlorn sigh, he flops entirely on top of Harry and stretches his impossibly long, wiry legs out over his lover. "But fantasies are just that - fantasies. Meant to stay in your dreams and all that."

"Hmm," Harry intelligently replies, and the two of them doze off out there, smelling disastrously of lager and cheese from their evening out.

//

In the morning, Harry pries Draco's sweaty arms off of him to set the kettle on the stove for tea, plowing through the cupboards for aspirin. He'd slept somewhat fitfully, bent out of shape on the sofa, and his head is in horrible distress. After taking the medication, he slices a few pieces of bread for toast and pulls out a skillet to fry eggs.

Once those have begun to sizzle, Draco has blearily followed in his footsteps, gingerly tapping his temples and reaching for the aspirin. He slumps forward on the table and clutches a glass of water like a lifeline.

Harry puts his plate in front of him, and they eat in relative quiet before the brunette clears his throat and says, "So, was all that about wanting to put on a few stone a part of your drunken rambling, or were you serious?" He's aware that sharply cornering Draco while they're sitting down in the morning is the best way to handle things. If he doesn't speak up now, Draco will dodge the subject, and he's interested to know the truth.

Even he can readily admit that the blonde is rail-thin, made worse by the fact that he's impossibly tall, so his skin looks a bit gaunt. Draco glares with full force, chewing determinedly and putting his fork down very slowly. Ten years ago - hell, maybe even four years ago - Harry might have thought Draco unimaginably furious with him, but now he knows that the taller man is taking his time to respond without losing his temper. "Somewhat," he finally replies after a pause, going back to eating as though he'd said nothing at all. Seeing as how Harry is still giving him a look, he exhales heavily. "I said it was only a fantasy, didn't I?"

Harry reaches for Draco's hand, and gives his partner a reassuring smile as he squeezes. For a moment, both of them look like lost, unruly boys again from opposite walks in life, finding peace together after spending years taking out misplaced aggression on each other. "You've never run from anything. Why run from this? D'you really think I'd be upset with you for the idea?"

Draco snorts. "Please. You think you'll still be able to say that when I'm the fat partner, stuffing myself stupid at holiday functions?"

The younger man laughs. "Picking up a stone or two wouldn't make you fat, Draco."

"And if I _do_ get fat?" He sounds haughty, which makes Harry snicker again.

Harry picks up his hand and kisses it, feeling triumphant, and Draco grumbles in response. "I don't care how big you are, idiot. I love  _you_ , not your skinny, non-existent arse, no matter what I may say otherwise when I'm snogging you."

Draco kicks him right in the shin for the remark and proceeds to polish off the rest of his breakfast eagerly, standing up to make himself a second helping.

The brunette stares at him with a fond look, unable to really imagine what makes Draco enticed to do such a thing, but as he steadily chews his fourth piece of toast, looking a bit unsettled and equally blissful, Harry  _does_ think he could become addicted to that expression on Draco's face.

 

* * *

  

 ** _—_ Part II  ** ** _ _—__****  Age 32  ** _ _—__**  ** **77 Kilos **| 12 Stone | 170 Pounds** _ _—__**

 

It takes about six months for Draco to reach his first mark.

Draco steadily increases his intake of calories, cuts down on the amount of exercise he does gradually, trying to put on mass at a clip that won't send his body into cardiac arrest. He spends an inordinate amount of time making sure that his skin stays very clear, from face masks to ointments for stretch marks. He's not  _nearly_ big enough to start worrying about those creeping up his skin, but it never hurts to prepare for things in advance.

He weighs himself every Sunday morning before breakfast, and when he sees the results that day, he whistles at himself. Harry looks up from his mobile with one eyebrow raised over his glasses. "Good news, then?"

"Yes." Draco pays no mind to the fact that he's in the middle of kitchen, stripping off his top and pressing at the skin of his chest, then abdomen, followed by forceps and currently-clothed legs. He seems deflated at the progress, though he'd done nothing but brag to his partner that he'd find that stone creeping up on them soon. (Harry had rolled his eyes at Draco every time he'd brought it up.) "Of a sort."

"What's wrong, love?"

"Dunno. Just sort of expected..."

When he trails off, Harry offers, "More?"

"I s'pose," Draco scoffs, gray eyes stormy as he glares at his own torso. "All this means is that I'll have to push myself further."

Harry locks the screen of his mobile and puts his hand on his chin while Draco puts his top back on with a pout. "What'll you have today, then?"

Silence passes between them for a time before Draco sits up properly and slams his palms down on the table. "I'm going to have a proper stuffing session. I'll need your help for this, Harry."

Draco rarely calls him by first name, meaning he must be feeling rather jolted. Harry stands up with a sigh and follows Draco to the market, reusable bags tucked under his arms for the queue.

//

The two of them come back to the flat with a veritable  _load_ of pasta, soft cheeses, milk, and chicken. Draco's always been handy in the kitchen, so Harry is content to follow his snappish orders and quip with him while they make enough food for four people.

Or, well, four people with an average appetite, instead of a scrawny man who eats only enough to keep his body moving, and a tall man determined to make himself larger by any means necessary.

He makes a huge dish of macaroni and cheese with barbecue-slathered chicken, munching on biscuits and crisps while it cooks. Harry suggests that they play cards for a bit, if only to take his hawk-like attention off of the oven for a time. This is successful until the timer sounds on his mobile, and Draco sweeps over to take the dish out with a thick swallow.

Draco puts it on the cooling rack, sets the timer for ten more minutes, and anxiously goes to grab a napkin, which he tucks into the collar of his top. Harry watches him pace from the corner of his eye, pulling out bowls and spoons for the two of them. Draco's bowl is the same size as his own, but Harry knows he'll have more than the paltry half-serving that Harry himself is planning to eat.

The moment the second timer goes off, Draco leaps up to get a serving spoon, heaping a great portion of gooey pasta and poultry, swallowing dryly as he works. He fills the bowl up until it's almost overflowing.

At first, Harry and Draco are eating at the same pace, exchanging few words as classical music plays from somewhere in their flat. Once Harry's finished, he washes his own dish and goes back to the table, studying Draco intensely as he takes in a deep breath.

"If I'm truly to do this, I shall have to give up being so prim, as you often call me."

"Yeah?" Harry, who had mentioned from the start of Draco's little journey, that he'd be supportive of whatever his partner wanted to do, finds himself surprisingly excited to see what Draco's revelation is all about.

"Pardon my manners, but I'll be making quite the mess of myself." Just the admittance alone makes Draco's cheeks flush hot, and the visual evidence of his embarrassment makes Harry shift in his chair a bit.

"Whatever you need to do," Harry says, finding his throat rather raspy as he chokes the words out. "Hope you don't mind if I watch."

"I expect nothing less, Potter."

With that, Draco stands to get his second bowl, piled just as high as the first, steeling his expression before picking up the bowl and using the spoon to shovel pasta into his mouth as quickly as he can. Harry can see his cheeks puffing out until they are impossibly full, can hear Draco breathing roughly through his nostrils as he chews and swallows efficiently, moaning around each mouthful so eagerly that Harry is doing more than just adjusting his trousers now.

He never would have thought that he'd find the sight of Draco letting himself go so erotic, getting cheese and barbecue sauce all over his cheeks, his nose, and his pale, flat lips.

Draco begins to slow down three-quarters of the way through the bowl, which is impressive. The casserole dish had been full to the brim, and a third of it has been cleared in less than twenty minutes. He puts his head back and breathes slowly, heavily, polishing the second bowl off with a quick swallow, standing up to get his third helping. He stops by the refrigerator to pull out a can of cola, taking a few sips between huge mouthfuls of his dinner, slamming the bowl down on the third pass and anchoring himself on table.

"Fucking hell," Draco airily hisses, grasping his bloated belly with both hands and groaning. "That's more than I've ever eaten, I believe."

Harry noncommittally grunts; he's been palming himself through his jeans for the past ten minutes. Draco wheezes a bit, short of breath, gray eyes glinting merrily as he sees how close to the edge Potter is. "What, afraid I'll mock you if you take that out, then?"

"Was more interested to see how much you'd get in there," Harry grumbles, hot up to his ears. "You're looking a bit pleased there yourself, Malfoy. Trousers tight in a couple of places, I'd bet."

Malfoy belches; it's a wet, deep sound, and he moans the moment its' finished making its' way out of his throat. "I'm too full to move."

Harry unzips himself, waits for Draco to adjust his legs, and crouches between them with his usual crooked smile, letting the bloated skin come free of its' constraints, pleasantly surprised that his partner is already visibly aroused.

"Lazy, entitled twat," Harry mumbles, opening his mouth, setting his jaw loose, and keeping his teeth sheathed by his lips as he pulls himself off and helps Malfoy come in a matter of moments.

 

* * *

  

 ** _—_ Part III  ** ** _ _—__**** Age 33  ** _ _—__**  **  **90** **Kilos **| 14 Stone | 198 Pounds**   _ _—__**

 

Draco wakes slowly that Sunday morning, and as he moves to toss his legs over edge of the bed, he grunts at the first try. Before attempting to get up and weigh himself, he takes an appreciative moment to admire the soft, steadily-growing flab of his belly. 

Even lying totally flat, when the night prior had been a typical evening in, no stuffings, just his usual gratuitous appetite being satiated, his belly is a small mound of a thing, several centimetres crested above the height of his ribs. His arms and chin are both much softer than he can recall in recent memory, and the best part?

"I'm really starting to feel plush," Draco murmurs, knowing well that Harry is awake beside him, probably browsing through posts on Twitter or Tumblr while he delights in his progress aloud. "Heavy, present, what have you. Do I look it?"

Harry sits up on his knees, taking a moment to observe his own hands first. They're riddled with scars and burns from lighters, some of which had been inflicted by Draco himself, and has a realization of his own. Here, gently squeezing portions of Draco's skin, noting how very far they've come - from nearly killing each other, to panting about Draco's growing waistline. Life is truly unpredictable, and the green-eyed rotter smiles his endearing grin. Draco feels as foolishly enamored as he had been that first time he'd pulled Potter's lips to his own in their early twenties.

"Yeah," Harry puts his lips to Draco's doughy middle, malleable fat warm to the touch. "Your figure's rather full these days."

"I've gained an average of a two pounds a month now," Draco lazily remarks, taking a few tries to heft himself up and out of bed properly. "After today's weigh in, I think it's time that I do something refreshing, to keep my body on its' toes."

"Whatever you need," Harry assures him with a tiny yawn, spryly jumping off of the mattress and hurrying into the kitchen, "you know I'll be happy to get it for you."

"Mm," Draco says.

He does know that.

Harry's a good boyfriend, and a good  _person_ , besides. He'd bend over backwards to do anything for the people he cares about.

It makes Draco frustrated, sometimes, that he'd been too busy being petty as a child to see something so blindingly obvious to everyone else in the world.

//

Draco writes Harry a little note, like the two of them aren't less than ten feet away from each other. His script is still looping and elegant, though his wrists and fingers are starting to get thicker. He looks down at his small gut, which looks only marginally larger than it had while he'd been in the bedroom, and the pace of his scribbling picks up.

_Tonight, I am going to push my limits. Since I plan to bloat up quite a bit, I will be making a protein milkshake, and these are the ingredients I shall require:_

  * _8 Pints Whole Milk_
  * _Whey Protein (Vanilla-Flavoured)_
  * _Large Package of Double Cream_
  * _Neapolitan Ice Cream_
  * _1 package of chocolate biscuits_



_-DM_

They have a blender that's been sitting on the counter for ages, and he figures that there is no time like the present to use it. Harry pockets the note with a small wave, setting out for the market, leaving Draco to snack on crisps and spoonfuls of peanut butter spread.

When he returns, he follows Draco's rigid instructions, concocting a gallon of sweet-smelling milkshake with enough calories to get the average person through a day - maybe even two.

"Will you be able to finish this?" Harry asks, just for the sake of asking. He already knows what his partner will say.

Draco clutches his belly, which is just beginning to poke over the hems of his trousers. "Absolutely."

//

The blonde takes the first few gulps of the shake like breaths of fresh air. The mixture is so rich and Draco is drinking so steadily that Harry gets wound up over the movements of Draco's stomach beneath his shirt. They'd just gotten Draco a loose wardrobe at 13 stone, but he's  _trying_ to bloat his way out of them, and Harry has the feeling that he'll be flagging a tent in his trousers at the sight of Draco's deeply-seated navel pressed against cotton.

Draco makes it halfway through the massive thing before he's panting, cursing under his breath and holding his belly tightly, slapping it a few times, and pressing his fingers into it in awe.

Harry coughs and suggests, "How about we take this to the bedroom, yeah? No need to worry about waddling over there after you're finished."

The taller man complies readily, feeling disastrously off-balance as he leans on Harry's thin arm and burps thinly, already feeling stuffed. Harry helps him adjust with a few pillows before attempting to back away and sit on the edge of the mattress, but Draco grabs his wrist and just stares at him.

"Sit on my lap," Draco tries to keep his voice arrogant and hide how desperate he is to feel Harry's thin body against his own thick one, but Harry's known him too long to believe the ruse.

He's also just a sucker for a red-faced Malfoy practically begging for him to do this, so he kicks off his socks and puts his thighs on either side of Draco's, nudging himself up so that he can feel every heave of the warm gut Draco's so fond of, and his slight erection pressed up against Harry's own. "This good?"

"Brilliant," Draco remarks. "Pass me the blender."

"What, no  _please_?"

"Not on your life, Potter." Harry jostles Draco's belly for sport at that, and Draco's eyes flutter shut at the pleasurable pain. He belches deeply in response and Harry keens at the sound, touching his partner more gingerly the second time. Draco burps again before saying, "Keep doing that while I drink?"

"If you like," Harry replies easily, kneading the taut skin of Draco's abdomen gently while Draco gulps down more. Harry can feel pre-come beading against his briefs when Draco's belly jumps up at its' own accord, what with him being three sips away from completing the shake, massively bloated and distended. The blonde sits up just slightly to get the last bit, panting like he's run a marathon. He flops back against the mattress, still belching under Harry's ministrations.

"Draco, I'm going to rub one out against you. Would you mind?"

"Too full to help," Draco murmurs, gray eyes studying Harry's green ones with an eager flash. "Want you to talk to me." He thumps the flat of his palm against the drum of his belly. "Tell me what you're thinking about while you move, and I'll do the same when you've finished."

"Deal," Harry quickly agrees, shucking off his trousers and briefs before prying Draco's clothes off of him, studying each of his labored movements and breaths intently. "I've been thinking, you know, these last few years, about how happy you look."

His green eyes close and he rambles, remembering grubby hands and long, sleepless nights. He thinks of Draco's cheeks, and strokes the back of one hand against his jawline while he keeps talking, grabbing himself tightly in hand and helping Draco lie further back so that his dick is fully taut, curving against the mass of his middle while Harry sits up and fixes it between his buttocks, sliding back against it.

He's been thinking about seeing Draco leaning on counters with a sly look in his eyes, with snacks and crumbs almost constantly dusting his clothes, if not his face, seeing him ever-so-slowly pack on all those pounds he'd talked about that first time the discussion had come to pass.

Thinks about finding Draco's eyes closed on the sofa, his breathing ragged and nasally, a stretch of pale, round belly poking out of those tops which had only gotten smaller and smaller, the fabric eventually too tight for Draco to even get it over his pillowing arms, let alone the ten inches that have settled at his waist.

Harry is close to coming as he babbles about Draco's fever-hot skin when he's finished with his huge meals, about burying his face in Draco's navel and wrapping his arms around Draco's mass, deliriously happy in a way that tortured children like they had been could have only truly dreamt about back then.

Draco musters the strength to bring Harry down to his chest and kiss him deeply, inserting his tongue and curling long fingers around Harry's bony shoulders while the thinner man shakes, paying no heed to the sticky heat of both his come and his partner's settling across his bum and sliding down his legs.

When they pull back, Draco runs a hand through Harry's curly, dark hair, smiling as Harry cries gently. "Thank you, Harry."

The usage of his first name makes Harry cling more tightly to Draco, who waits until the tears have stopped before he starts talking. Harry is absently tracing circles over his soft chest and across his gurgling abdomen by the time Draco closes his eyes and tells Harry what he'd been so afraid of telling him - of telling  _anyone_.

"I thought it'd always remain a fantasy and nothing more, truly," Draco remarks. "I'd known I was attracted to men since secondary school, but I didn't realize that I found larger frames enticing until university."

He knows all of this is news to Potter - they'd avoided knowing anything about each other from sixth year until partway through university, where they'd had a somewhat tumultuous reunion. In the end, the bumpy beginning had led to a beautiful ending, but they both agree that they had been a bit too pigheaded in primary school.

"I browsed sites and watched videos, taking it all in, fascinated, until one day, it clicked that I didn't just  _enjoy_ the visages of men that were huge and round. I realized that I wanted to  _be_ one of those men." He reaches the hand that isn't cradled behind Harry's nude backside around his gut, which is valiantly still digesting that monstrously caloric shake. "Even now, I'm loving every moment of this. I'm delighted that you find my additional mass attractive. It's terribly erotic, doing this with you watching." Gray eyes open softly, and he squeezes his own belly. "Can't wait to see this grow bigger. Rounder. Just  _massive_ , Potter. I'll just eat, and eat, and eat - just keep going until I constantly look as though I'll pop."

Harry feels as though he'll be hard again with Draco talking like that, so he kisses Draco quiet, patting his belly and pressing an ear to it. He lets his tongue out of the blonde's mouth and thinks to himself,  _behave, idiot_ ; they both fall asleep moments after they stop speaking and kissing.

 

* * *

  

 **— Part IV ** _—_** Age 34  ** _ _—__**  **  **105,5-110** **Kilos ** **| 16,5-17 Stone | 232-242 Lbs.**** _ _—__**

 

On the way to Hermione and Ron's home, Draco busies himself with the sandwiches he'd packed and making his way through a two-litre bottle of cola, but Harry can feel the heavy air that's been hanging over his partner for weeks.

"I know you're frustrated that you've hit a plateau, love," Harry murmurs, keeping focused on the road with his eyes just briefly flicking to the left, reading Draco's scowl in that instant. "Still, we're going to their house for the holiday for the first time in ages. I don't want them to think that we're upset with them the moment we've gotten to the door."

Draco sighs, polishing off his snack and drink, letting the sloshy feeling of a partially-filled belly comfort him as they bump down country roads and travel thirty more minutes to the Weasley-Granger household.

"Besides, I've spoken with Hermione and asked that she and Ron cook plenty for us. Let on that we're starved, and all." He sees Draco getting broody again at that, poking the belly quite prominently resting in his lap and straining his clothes. "Don't worry about being reserved. They won't mind your size or your appetite, Draco."

"D'you really think they'll notice  _how_ big I am?" His voice gives away his true aim there, and Harry guffaws.

"I don't think anyone could miss that belly," Harry muses quietly, reaching over to touch it. He's chuffed when Draco puts his own hand over it, just letting Harry domestically rest a hand on his middle, like a pregnant person inviting someone to feel their baby kicking.

Privately, Harry thinks that Draco's gut is portly enough to rival an eight-month pregnant belly. Most of the blonde's gain has settled there, what with consistent bloating sessions and a stomach that's been stretched to hold enormous quantities for almost three years now.

The action seems to settle Draco enough that he stops fidgeting and scowling, at least.

//

They arrive fifteen-minutes late, but absolutely no one is surprised by that. If anything, Ron and Hermione both need a moment to take in Draco's drastically changed visage, but it only takes them a beat to adjust, and they invite him in warmly.

"So good to see you," Hermione greets Draco and he follows her into the kitchen, helping set the table while Ron and Harry immediately trade loud jokes in the foyer. "Glad to have someone here that'll help me set the table instead of lazing about."

"A sharp and inquisitive mind will be a welcome addition at this dinner table, Granger." Draco's button down strains against his girth when he bends certain ways, and his belt is working hard to keep these very tight slacks up over his rear. The idea that he could bust out of them at any moment is more exciting than it has any right to be. He's here with  _Potter's_ friends, who had once despised him (for good reason), and he ought to make a positive impression. It's Christmas, after all.

Once everything is placed on the table, Hermione invites Draco to sit, wedging himself into the armchair with just a few centimeters of give on either side of his thighs or his billowing abdomen. Hermione is the one who gives the signal for the festivities to begin, so they start passing all the dishes around and loading their plates.

Harry eats like a small creature, as always, nibbling at everything and finishing nothing. Ron and Draco pile their first plates about as high as they can manage, though the composition is mostly meat on the ginger's plate, and Draco's is composed primarily of the rosemary roast chicken Yorkshire pudding that smells heavenly. Hermione eats as she does everything else - that is to say, cleverly - and she punctuates each mouthful of food with sharp retorts. "Now that Granger's not out to kill me, I think I rather fancy her."

"Nearly everyone who meets her comes to the same conclusion at some time. Congratulations." Partway through Draco's second plate, Harry leans over and whispers, green eyes keenly noting the slivers of his partner's undershirt growing more spacious and whispers, "Still have plenty of room?"

Draco snorts, piling two extra pieces of roast pork onto his plate and cleans it with a flourish. The taunt fires him up to finish four fully-stacked plates, chewing steadily as the other three start pulling wine and beer out of the fridge, chatting easily about the country's daily events.

As Draco works in Managerial Accountancy, and Harry for the Ministry of Defence, their day-to-day routines are rather mundane. Draco complains of having too many egos to contend with when they hold their thrice-yearly business reviews, and Harry rolls his eyes.

"Just three meetings, and he has the gall to complain about them all year round. Horrid."

Hermione and Ron just laugh. They turn on the telly to flip through sporting channels for football, cricket, and racing before settling on some sort of sporting talk show that nobody really pays attention to. The hosting couple mistakenly thinks that just because Draco hasn't been up to load his plate in a while that he's finally full, but it turns out that he's been working through a significant portion of the chocolate brownie trifle with a glass of red wine that Harry's been diligently refilling in paces.

When they think to adjust themselves and check back on Draco, who is still sitting at the table though the rest of them have moved closer to the telly, he stifles a small belch behind his hand, and Harry watches in fascination as the front portion of Draco's trousers gives into the intense pressure of his paunch and rips. He burps once more with a flush, yanking Harry by the wrist. "Potter, I've overdone it. This shirt is fit to burst too."

 _Hell._ Harry is less bothered by the fact that this is heating his blood, and more so by the fact his lower half is twitching in interest in _Hermione and Ron's home._ As promised, Draco's shirt releases a button with a sharp snap and his belly is pooling in his lap. Draco doesn't even have the decency to be properly embarrassed - he looks about ready to have a pull, regardless of who might be watching them.

"Sorry to rush," Harry wheezes breathlessly, trying to maintain his self control as he helps Draco manoeuvre out of the chair. The blonde man adjusts his outfit so that all of his skin is covered, widening his posture to allow for the heavy mass of his gravid belly to go to the water closet briefly, and then quickly to Harry's car. "Be in touch, ta. Lovely work on everything tonight, Hermione."

"Drive safely, Harry!" Hermione yells her parting words from the living room.

Ron just shrugs as the door closes behind them.

//

Harry can barely put his key in the ignition for seeing Draco attempt to suck in his  _incredibly_ overstuffed belly so that he can take his belt off and really admire the damage he's done to his clothing. Hot and flustered, Harry drives back to their flat at breakneck speed, reaching one hand over to squeeze Draco and make him wince and groan in waves at the feeling.

"You ate until you ruined your clothes, you absolute menace," Harry mumbles hotly, knowing that Draco is blushing and beaming like an innocent child. "You couldn't have worn anything larger for Christmas dinner?"

"This  _was_ the largest thing that I owned for this sort of occasion," Draco readily admits, teeth peeking out in his sinister, vampiric smirk. "I'll have to take new measurements and get a new wardrobe when the shops open back up."

Once Harry pulls into the drive, he unbuckles his seatbelt hurriedly, impatient to get his hands all over Draco. "Tell me, would you have been able to get out of that chair if I hadn't hefted you up?" Doing that in and of itself is getting difficult - Draco easily has six stone on Harry, and his center of gravity is his middle.

Draco looks smug enough to punch in the face as he replies, "No, don't think I could've. Bit past bloated at the button-popping stage and all, Potter. I've had an hour to settle my stomach, so I'll be alright to walk up to our room. You can feel how very heavy and rotund I've made myself this evening."

They trudge up the short set of stairs with Draco panting and sweating all the way, now well into obesity and intensively out of shape. He eases himself out of his trousers with a deep sigh of relief. They're a bit hard to get past his ass and thighs now, but he manages, and when he pulls his briefs down, the angry red line that's etched in his skin makes his skin burn with pleasure. Potter has to help him out of his top, nearly tackling him the moment that both of them are undressed.

His mouth suckers onto Draco's nipples, a bottle of lubricant clutched tightly in his left hand as he humps the great heft of Malfoy's belly, keening and mewling in his throat each time his dick slides against the hot skin of Draco's middle. The two of them are hard and impatient. Harry barely waits for Draco to adjust himself on the mattress before pouring lube on the blonde's fingers, spreading his legs wide over Draco's own with an all-consuming need to have Draco inside of him, against him. Draco's sweating like he's waiting out a fever, overly full and wicked enough to have burst out of his clothes at Christmas dinner.

Harry's barely prepped well enough when he loops his arms around Draco's gently softening backside, digging his fingertips into the blonde's building cascade of back rolls. "I can't wait anymore for this, Draco. Please." He's not above begging out of desperation, and Draco is not a man so frigid that he can deny his lover the request.

"As you please, then, Potter."

The brunette takes the words as invitation, angling himself so that he can get to Draco's cock underneath the girth of his ball gut, sliding his thin dick into his own arse and biting his lip in pleasure. As he bounces on it, using Draco's belly and love handles for leverage, he babbles. "You're getting so huge, Malfoy." When Harry gets lost in his head, he switches between his first and last name, but his fingers are gripping tightly and Draco is so close to coming inside of him that it's not even funny. "I love the feeling of all  _this_ rubbing up against me. Love that you let yourself go in front of my friends."

"I've been stagnating around the same spot for weeks now, though," Draco muses miserably, idly unsure why this occurs to him when his endorphins are at an all time high and he might cry when he comes in less than sixty seconds.

"Then I'll feed you everything you want this week, twice. It's holiday, we've no place to be, and you can just sleep or eat." Harry reaches his prostate in a thrust and rests against Draco while he enjoys the sensation, kissing up the blonde's jawline until Draco tilts his head forward for a sloppy, wet kiss.

"I'll hold you to that," he grunts just before clasping Harry's forearms. "I'm close, and you've come untouched." Harry looks down at the mess over Draco's cushy abdomen as he slides Draco's dick out of himself, trying to regain his breath as he flops in a heap next to his lover.

"Not untouched, really," Harry mumbles before dozing off. "All your bulk was pressing against my cock when I thrust, and I liked that better than pulling myself off. It was... _amazing._ "

The dopey smile on his face makes Draco trace the little fading scar on Harry's face, brushing his fringe out of the brunette's eyes before lying back and falling asleep himself.

True to his word, Harry starts the very next morning by preparing a full English, offering Draco fresh whipped cream to top anything he pleases, the eggs and meat included.

"Double cream to polish it off, just to be sure," Harry says, pushing up his glasses with a sweep of his arm.

Draco grins as he begins to stuff his face. "Eating all of this will make me fat, you know."

"That's what you're counting on," Harry quips back, rucking up the tight shirt Draco's put on and caressing his belly, which is still quite the sight from the day before. "Now eat up. Only a week left of holiday, you know. Let's get you past that hurdle."

The Sunday after Christmas, Draco's gone from 232 pounds to the cusp of 242. After spending nine weeks without gaining a thing, Draco's horrifyingly aroused by the number.

He's almost put a stone on in seven days, just from lazing about the flat with Harry, eating as often as he can manage, and he feels every bit of the sudden surge, heavy and full and nearly cross-eyed with pleasure as his belly, hips, and thighs _noticeably_  expand over the holiday.

Draco knows that he himself can be something of a tease and troublemaker, but Harry Potter is twice the fiend he is for encouraging Draco's behaviors, and enthusiastically reaping the rewards that Draco's transformed body has to offer.

//

Ron relaxes on the chaise with a yawn. "D'you s'pose Harry fancies Malfoy being larger and softer? They've been seeing each other for ages, but this is easily the happiest I've seen either of those two."

Hermione, ever-observant, thinks back to Harry's hugely blown pupils as he'd clutched Malfoy by the belly and helped him to the loo, and Malfoy's poorly-hidden childish glee at having ruined his clothes at Christmas. "I daresay that they both like it, yeah? Otherwise they wouldn't  _both_ be so pleased."

"Good for them then, pair of randy bastards," Ron mumbles. "Have to admit that Malfoy wears it well. Must be some special brand of arrogance and self-satisfaction put in all those gallons of cream he must be drinking."

His wife pinches the redheaded man's arm with an icy smile and Ron quickly shuts his mouth before he can dig himself into a deeper hole.

 

* * *

 

 ** _—_ Part V  ** _—_** Age 35  ** _ _—__**  **  **125** **Kilos ** **| 20 Stone | 276 Pounds****   _ _—__**

 

Visits to the Malfoy estate are almost always a somber affair for one reason or another. Their latest scathing report is about Draco's growing beyond just  _plump_ or  _chubby_ \- he's certifiably fat now, even when his stomach is totally empty and is gurgling for a snack.

Harry hates going to the manor, because everyone in that place aside from Narcissa and Draco, obviously, loathe him, and would like nothing more than to see Harry strung up by innards in one of their five hundred spare rooms.

Since they've been talking about money and Draco's father, Lucius, is getting on in years, Draco's extended relatives really lay into him about the weight, making this visit is even worse than usual. Harry curses under his breath the whole ride home, leaning down uncomfortably in his seat on the tram.

"We knew what they were going to say," Draco reassures Harry with his pudgy fingers resting on Harry's arm. "We spoke of this weeks ago when they phoned, and the affair's finished now. The two of us can stop spending so much time worrying about which of my family members are going to kill which for inheritance and focus on my irritating jawline."

Draco's neck stubbornly seems to be resisting forming a second chin; this is the blonde's latest frustration.

Harry puffs air hotly and crosses his arms over his chest, angry in Draco's stead, as Draco has been subjected to that sort of brazenly toxic environment his whole life. Harry's not exactly the poster-child of a glowing upbringing, but he knows that the Dursleys, his adoptive family, would never have to worry about one of their relatives driving out to the village and murdering them to steal precious heirlooms.

(According to Draco, that was a true story of something that had actually happened in the Malfoy household when he'd been a boy. The story still makes Harry shudder.)

A long pause falls between them and Harry starts rummaging through his pack for snacks, opening a bag of crisps. He munches and Draco doesn't reach for any, immediately setting Harry's teeth on edge.

For his partner to refuse snacks, Draco must be having some truly warped thoughts right now. Harry scowls, hoping that he doesn't have anything stupid to say.

"Harry," Draco starts - he's doing nothing but raising more warning flags for his lover, damn him, "D'you ever wish that I would give this up?" His gray gaze travels out of the window, where the scenery is flashing by in blurs of colour. He jostles his belly with rough grasp, then continues. "Wish I'd drop a few stone, stop trying to eat myself into a stupor at every meal and all?"

The brunette puts a palm over Draco's middle, gently squeezing the soft flab of his partner's round, wide middle before moving to his tender thighs, threatening to burst the seams even though he'd just sized up his wardrobe recently. "I'm only uncomfortable with it if you are, Draco. I think you look perfectly lovely this way. I mean, reasonably, I know what this is doing to your health in the long-term, but life is too short to worry about doing things you don't enjoy. Would you like to start losing weight, then?"

Malfoy puts his hands over Harry's, flicking gray eyes down to meet worried green ones. He bites his lip and shakes his head. He'd really started to feel comfortable in his body, even though he has to waddle often when he's finished eating his fill and then some, spreading his legs to let his belly sag between the space, let out his trouser buttons and zippers to finish cleaning his plates. "No. I feel like, perhaps, I'll settle at twenty-two stone for a time, and see how I feel after I reach that goal."

"That's that, then," Harry says, closing his eyes with a smile, sighing lightly in relief. A moment later, Draco's stomach loudly rumbles, and both of them chuckle.

"I think I'll opt for a huge filling tonight, to make up for the horror of this morning."

"Sounds fantastic," the brunette readily agrees. "I'll rub that gut for you when you've finished."

Draco shivers in anticipation as Harry smirks at him, willing himself to calm down while they make their way home to the flat.

//

Harry puts in the take-away order after buying the beer and sticking it in the freezer to cool more quickly. Once everything is spread on the table, Draco cracks his knuckles and begins to dive in, opening the cardboard box after Harry's put the pizza down on the table, the steam from the heat and the smell of oily sausage makes saliva pool in his mouth.

It's a large pizza, and oil glints underneath a slice when Draco experimentally lifts a piece. He has one more pie underneath this one all to himself, as Harry has expressly told him that he'll be having a salad instead. Beyond that, he's heating breadsticks in the oven as well, closing the oven door to grab a glass out of the freezer, getting Draco's first drink to go with his meal.

The mixture of stress from the morning's journey and unbridled excitement about being  _able_ to eat all of this food without being ill, he bites into the first slice, cheese stinging his wrists a bit as he blows out quickly, the bite just a bit too hot for him to swallow immediately. As he keeps working, his tongue gets used to it, and before either of them knows it, he's more than halfway through the pie, and he's been swallowing thick gulps of lager to make it go down more easily. Harry refills the glass in silence, cataloguing each one of Draco's determined grunts for masturbatory material in the future.

With the first pizza demolished, Harry goes to break down the cardboard box. Draco's on his fourth pint of beer and his tenth slice of pizza when a deep, wet sound rips from his belly-up, and neither of them have any right to be as aroused as they are by the noise. His thoughts are getting a bit fuzzy under the haze of alcohol, and Draco blearily says, "Harry, feed me the rest of this?"

Six slices left. Harry's just poured Draco's fifth pint.

He gulps.

"If you like," he shakily replies, trembling a bit as his blonde lover belches again, looking easily ten years younger when he's starting to get tipsy and full.

Harry picks up the salami pizza and folds the slice in half, noting all the sweat beaded on Draco's forehead as he leans forward. His clothes are straining against him as he starts to bloat, too, but he knows that Draco's enjoying the feeling of the pressure, so he won't help Draco release his belly just yet.

The feeling of Draco's lips around his fingers is not altogether foreign to him, but his teeth sloppily pulling over skin and tomato sauce is a decidedly new pleasure, one that zips down his spine and makes Harry suggest that they take things to the sofa so that he can sit in Draco's lap and do this.

Draco readily agrees, belching heartily a few times on the trip over there, stumbling to undo the button on his trousers. "Help me out of this," Draco murmurs once he's flopped onto the cushions with a bit of gas from both ends, and Harry does so, propping Draco's back with pillows before he peels off the button-down and pulls Draco's slacks to rest beneath his waist.

The belly is beginning to droop instead of lurch straight outward, and Harry licks his lips, desperately hoping that Draco will ask him to measure his width when he's finished with this stuffing.

It takes Harry a few trips to get everything, and when he settles over Draco, careful not to let all of his weight rest on the blonde, he happily watches more and more cheesy, greasy pizza disappear into Draco's stomach, pausing between slices to let him have a drink, and getting giddy about his stomach lurching at everything churning inside of it. Draco moans like a rent boy and Harry thinks this is all terribly delicious.

A timer goes off for the breadsticks, so Harry instructs Draco to finish that last piece of pizza and his beer before the second-to-last round. He nods as much as he can manage. When Harry returns, he has the breadsticks and a dipping bowl full of a creamy garlic sauce. Harry holds the dip whilst Draco scarfs down the piping-hot, doughy bread, hiccuping a few times.

He finishes everything in less than an hour - six pints of beer, two large pizzas, five large breadsticks, and the whole dish of garlic sauce.

The final portion sounds daunting, for Draco feels absurdly round and gurgling - the bubbles that had helped settle all the cheese in his stomach are now taking up a large space within him, heavy and gaseous. Harry wouldn't blame him in the slightest for tapping out. In fact, he's a moment from suggesting just that, what with as languid as Malfoy looks now, and Draco himself snaps, "Dessert?"

"I'll heat it up a bit," Harry says tenderly, kissing Draco's flushed cheeks before standing up and reaching in the freezer. There's a pint of ice cream there, and he sticks it in the microwave just long enough to soften it. He comes back with a great spoon and a proud expression as Draco lets out his loudest belch yet. "That must feel good, getting some of the pressure off like that."

"Mm," Draco hums in the affirmative, blearily reaching for the ice cream package. He drinks it in slow sips, some of the liquid portion going down his neck instead of into his gut. When he gets to chunks, he uses the spoon to ladle them close enough to move over his tongue, even though every effort of movement makes him sweat like he's underneath the midday sun. He finishes with a loud huff, gasping for breath immediately after the last swallow, and once he can finally breathe again (somewhat), he starts to groan, his abdomen clenching at so many reactions taking place inside of him.

It takes several minutes for the full impact to come, for Harry to press up against Draco's swelling chest before the blonde sweetly moans, "Harry, hurts."

"Shall I quit rubbing?"

"No," Draco insists softly, whining from the back of his throat and squirming his trunk-like legs as best he can with Harry's weight gingerly placed upon them and his own fat belly pinning him in place. "Press a bit more, would you? Fuck." Draco almost never curses, so Harry knows the pain must be truly monumental.

He's flushed from everything happening within him; can't relax for all his sweat, the burps, the gas. His belly is distended from the food and the bloat. It takes a half-hour for Draco to settle enough to doze, and he wakes blearily to the sound of Harry tidying the kitchen and the living. He tries to push himself up and fails, giggling a bit tipsily when he realizes that he's had so much to eat and drink that he can't get up. "Potter," Draco airily calls for his partner and the brunette looks over, using the back of his hand to push his sliding wireframe glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Have you the tape measure? I know you want to see how big I've gotten tonight."

Draco's taking the piss because he  _is_ still right pissed, but Harry lets Draco rib him. After all, he  _does_ want to know. He's been thinking about it for hours, since they'd gotten to the station and headed for the market, just _talking_ about Draco eating everything that he had.

He digs through the drawers for the measure and sidles next to Draco once it's firmly clasped in his hands. It only lets out for 65 inches, and Draco is getting dangerously close to not being able to use this one to know his girth. Harry's heart trills at the idea.

On the last few Sundays, Draco's hovered around 43 inches around at the largest portion of his waist, but with everything sloshing in him now, he's at the verge of 50 inches, the tape straining around the massively bloated gut.

Harry playfully slaps the tight bound of Draco's belly and coyly remarks, "Getting quite fat there, love. I'm sure there's a great big arse trapped beneath that too, eh?"

Draco arches his back and puts a hand over his nipples like a pin-up idol. "Wouldn't you like to know, Mister Potter? I'm not the type to hand out a free show, you see."

"Bloody liar," Harry whispers, flicking his tongue into the deep cavern of Draco's belly-button and chuckling when the blonde arches his hips in response. "Don't be so impatient. You won't be able to lay with me for another hour or so, you great glutton. I've brought you some digestive biscuits in the meantime, so join me in the bedroom once you can get up."

It turns out that it truly does take Draco the full hour to force himself up those stairs, but once he gets there, it's worth it. Harry moans wantonly as Draco's massive gut rests against his back, takes pleasure in the press of all the evidence that Draco has turned into quite the large man all over.

Draco loves the comparison too. Harry's still as skinny and lithe as a boy, tan body covered in freckles from head to foot. Harry's toes curl as he reaches orgasm, fists curled in the sheets and mouth gaping open as Draco slams into him.

When both of them are coming down from the high of a good fuck, Harry curls their fingers together and murmurs, "You know I won't be mad if you've been dreaming of being bigger than twenty-two stone, yeah?"

The blonde says nothing in return, but his pulse is quick and Harry can feel it through his wrist until they both get to sleep.

//

_Every word out of Harry's mouth is poison, but his lips are red, full - distracting. Draco despises him._

_"Coward!" Harry spits at Draco, fists held back from the pale boy's face by his friends' grips on both elbows. "One day, when you're no longer able to run from what you are, I'll be back to remind you again. You're just a filthy coward, Malfoy, and never forget that."_

_Draco doesn't forget. It's impossible for the heated look on Potter's face to disappear from his memory, and when he's at the lowest point of his life, the image helps him to get off._

_Lying on his mattress many years later, curled beside Potter in a fine state of undress, he wills himself to stay with those words burning in his ears._

_If he's to be true to his word - what he'd said to Potter the evening previous, about moving on and treating life as though it is a challenge instead of basking in the rewards his lineage has provided him - he will stay until the green-eyed fool wakes up._

_If he's being truly honest with himself and free of all cowardice, he will stay until Potter tells him to get out._

_(Harry never does.)_

//

When Draco's gray eyes flutter open, he has a brief cry, silently hoping that Harry will remain deeply asleep. The sun's not even close to rising, so he's optimistic.

He traces the length of Harry's left arm and smiles with wobbly lips. Harry is a man he can take at his word.

Draco refuses to be a coward about his desires any longer.

 

* * *

 

 

 ** _—_ Part VI  ** _—_** Age 37  ** _ _—__**  **  **175** **Kilos ** **| 27,5 Stone | 385 Pounds****   _ _—__**

 

"Oof," Draco exhales heavily as he sinks into his desk chair, the huge mass of his fat belly jiggling as he adjusts himself. All of his clothes are getting disastrously tight again, and it's horrid. He fiddles with the ring on his finger as his computer boots up, and he rummages through his dressers for a pack of sweets.

"See you've been working to put on even more weight after getting married, eh?" Goyle leans in Draco's doorframe with a smug grin and Draco simply rolls his eyes. "Day's just started and you're already looking a bit warm, Malfoy."

Walking from the lift to his desk is getting more difficult, as is  _everything_ else that Draco does these days. He's eating constantly, waddling and shuffling and even turning sideways much of the time to make way for the expanse of his middle.

He's incessantly proud of his progress. "What can I say? My husband is the type who likes me with a bit of meat on my bones."

The rest of the morning passes without much incident, though there is one of the dreaded thrice-yearly meetings being held in the afternoon. He makes sure to have an immaculate lunch to make up for the fact that he'll be bored to tears for the next two hours. In the meeting itself, Draco starts to suck down the watery whey shake he'd prepared just so that he'll have something to take his mind off of things, and he doesn't realize that he's rubbing his belly and quietly burping until his boss glances at him twice.

 _Who cares,_ Draco petulantly thinks, finishing the drink with a flourish.  _Look at me being fat, handsome, and happy, you tit._

Draco leaves the meeting with a huge sigh of relief and stops for take-away on his way home - just grabbing two chicken caesar wraps and chips from Nando's before pulling into the drive.

Harry is idling in the kitchen and something oily is smudged over his cheeks. Draco greets him with a peck on the lips, and Harry wraps his arms around him. "Welcome home," the brunette says gently, bending at the middle to kiss one of the straining buttons across Draco's belly before saying, "and hello to you too."

The blonde snorts at the joke; it's a running gag between them, as Draco's now more than twice the weight he'd been when he'd started gaining, and nearly thrice Harry's, that his belly is worth greeting as though it's a second person.

"Smells fantastic," Draco comments, immediately headed for the sofa. The kitchen chairs have been too small to hold his wide bottom for months now, and this is easier for the both of them.

"It'll be ready in about an hour. Hope you aren't too terribly hungry yet."

"Just had a snack on the way home. I'll be alright."

"If you say so," Harry hums back. He sets a 4-pint package of cold milk on the coffee table beside Draco and hands it to his spouse without a glass. Draco had insisted that there was no point in dirtying things when he would polish off the contents of anything put in front of him, so Harry had given up on telling the blonde that he rather enjoyed doing the dishes. It's a quiet task, and it helps him really see the evidence of everything Draco can put inside of his stomach, but relationships are built on compromise, and it's an easy adjustment, besides.

Dinner is served almost exactly an hour later - there's a roast pork shoulder that's entirely for Draco, a large pot of cheesy mash, a dish full of stir-fried broccoli, and a huge bowl of melted margarine for Draco to pour over all of his food.

He eats quickly, working his mouth like a machine, groaning at the strain of his wardrobe over his overflowing belly. As Harry takes in the sight from afar, it's truly miraculous. Draco's grown soft at the arms, with fat gathering above his knees, ankles, and elbows in just as lovely a fashion as it pools in his lap.

Focusing on Draco's belly causes an obscene heat to build in Harry. Underneath those pitifully strained buttons, there's a beautiful belly - a gut, huge and fat, round and plush, pushing from being one globe that's easily two-and-a-half feet ahead of Draco to a poochy, sagging monster of a thing, with a second layer burgeoning beneath the first. Harry hopes that Draco will ruin his clothes again tonight, as he's been threatening to do for weeks.

He keeps providing Draco with milk when the blonde finishes packages.

Thirty minutes later, with all of the pork gone, and more than half of the mash and broccoli eaten, Draco's belly bursts out of his shirt with a loud  _rip_ and he accentuates the marvel of a sound with a gratified belch.

"Good riddance," Draco scoffs, quickly shoveling more food into his mouth. "Think I'll be able to do the same with my trousers today?"

"God, I hope so," Harry comments wistfully, confident that his husband will be able to pull it off. "Marry me, you wicked man."

"Already have, you moron."

When Harry helps Draco to bed fifteen minutes later, stuffed to the gills as he waddles gracelessly up to their bedroom, Draco comments, not for the first time, how desperately they need to move away from a loft with more than one level, and Harry reminds him that they've been looking on every holiday they have. Draco sits on the bed with a great jiggle of his overly full frame, and, although the button on his trousers does not give, the fabric stretched across Draco's bum has worn thin and his dark briefs are exposed. Harry laughs for a full minute at the situation. "That's one powerful arse."

Draco joins him in cackling at that, leaning back and peeling his clothes off with a few grunts, loving the sound of his fingers roaming over his nude belly, patting it sharply to hear the thrum of his packed gut echoed back.

Problems have come with Draco's massive gain, of course, but the pleasure of the past five years far outweighs the negative effects. He's still mostly healthy, though his cholesterol intake is too high and his blood pressure is elevated as well, but those are minor issues. He elects to handle them when he must in the future.

For now, he basks in the glow of Harry's fervent attentions.

For now, he gleefully notes that he's living his dream.

For now, he grasps Harry's hips with large, bold hands as the brunette bobs against his bloated belly and chants Draco's name like a wish to the stars.

He falls asleep with one last loud burp, Harry curled against him like a drowsy kitten, as small and lithe as ever.

The two of them have moved well past exchanging fists in car parks. Now, Draco falls asleep in the bed of the man he's loved for twenty-five years - probably more if he's being  _honest_ \- growing fatter and wider, and smiling as he revels in the glory of his life.

 

__— fin _ _—___ _

 

**Author's Note:**

> for ref:
> 
> weight/mass: 1 stone = ~6 kg. = 14 lbs.  
> 1 kg = 2.2 lbs.
> 
> a lot of phraseology in this is from tv shows i can recall and a couple of english friends. please feel free to let me know if anything sounds funky/too american.
> 
> [sketch of draco's weight gain silhouettes](https://68.media.tumblr.com/02a34a0b7ec6afdce2bd809e504e0340/tumblr_ot64ujdjhM1wpklnso1_1280.png).
> 
> thanks for reading! <3


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